Alchemy Gone Akward: Goodbye, Budapest, hello, poptart-kitty!
by MomotsukiNezumi
Summary: Loki has been compared to having "a bag of cats" for brains by Dr. Banner during the Invasion. However, no one ever questioned if he actually liked the furry things. So when the god of mischief appears in Central Park one afternoon with a most unusual companion, the Avengers must ask themselves: Is it food, or is it a pet? Either way, Thor doesn't quite get it.
1. Wherein Loki isn't quite dead

**This makes story #25 here, and to celebrate, I've devised this little crack!fic, crafted out of a friend asking a rather interesting set of questions: _We all know that Thor has a fondness for poptarts, so why hasn't anyone on Midgard introduced him to the wonders of the Poptart Nyan-cat yet? Or if they did, what would he do? Would he try to eat it, since it's part delicious, artificially flavoured dessert? Would he keep it as a pet? Would he think it an abomination of nature and try to smash it with his hammer or strike it with lightning? And where would the Nyan-cat even come from?_**

**The questions were asked, and then an image of Loki's "bag of cats crazy/army of cats/He _is _a cat and Thor is likewise a big fluffy Golden Retriever" meme popped into my Mind Palace, and then...this happened. I don't have a clear idea of long this story will be, but it's likely to last for at least several chapters.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or places of Marvel's _The Avengers _or the famous internet phenomenon of Nyan-Cat, but I do own this version of the kitty in question for the purpose of this story. **

**Rated "T" for mass quantities of mischief, swear words, some violent fight scenes, PTSD flashbacks, and Loki trolling the universe and defying the laws of physics on a regular basis.**

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><p>Agent Natasha Romanoff had, in her line of work, seen a great many strange and unusual things, including, as of recent years, a giant alien invasion of New York that seemed to have come straight out of the wet dreams of every diehard sci-fi member on the planet.<p>

She had seen gods battle each other in a maelstrom of power strong enough to leave lightning blasting out of the sky and leave every building in the city shaking as people ran pell mell in a mad race to evacuate, screaming, tiny figures seeming like ants in danger of being crushed beneath the heel of some larger force. She had seen a billionaire in a self-made suit of armor fly a nuclear warhead to outter space, in order to protect his city from becoming Ground Zero all over again. She had seen her partner, one of the few people in the universe she might call friend, become possessed by a mad blue energy that led her to fight him, and her instinct to eliminate the threat he posed. She had watched as the organization that called itself S.H.I.E.L.D. brought together some of the world's strangest, most dangerous misfits together to protect their homeworld, even if that meant avenging its smoldering corpse in the end.

But this...this was _not _her division.

Up on the rooftop of the nearest brownstone several feet away, Agent Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye, was also confused by the rather bizarre sight down below.

"Nat...are you seeing this too?"

The redhead nodded silently, digging her fingernails into her palms to see if the pain would be enough to shock her out of whatever hallucination this was.

Sitting upon the topmost branches of the nearest large tree, the alien would-be-king and mischief god Loki was perched, a long, thin rod of ink-black yew wood dangling carelessly from one slender pianist hand, the runes carved into the wood glowing faintly green, like the hot, dying embers of a witch's fire on a moonlit night.

Unlike the other times that the Avengers had encountered him, Loki appeared completely unconcerned with causing any sort of havoc. He was bereft of his usual golden armor and leathers, and instead was clad in a somewhat more stealthy apparel for New York's "urban jungle sprawl" environment, this one seeming to leave him looking much less like an invading space Viking and much more like a wealthy Bohemian college student with a flair for the 1960's British Invasion punk movement.

But it was not the converse sneakers, the black ripped skinny jeans, or even the artfully-ripped Black Sabbath shirt and dozens of leather armbands and riotous rainbow plethora of mismatched beads and spikes.

It was the completely bizarre creature curled up on his lap, purring loudly. The creature that, at first glance, appeared to be only a rather chubby grey tomcat with short whiskers and pawpads like tiny strawberries.

But both Agents had seen Budapest, and even Budapest had not prepared them to see a cat whose entire torso appeared to be made up of a giant, sprinkle-studded strawberry poptart.


	2. Restraint, Pranks, and a missed shot

**A/N: Thus, we get part 2 of this madness. Please note that I have no real prior experience writing for any of the Avengers, or for that matter, Loki, so OOC scenes may or may not occur. **

**NOTE: My personal opinion is that Loki might actually appreciate cats, given that, much like him, they are elegant, cunning, fey-like creatures, they don't care for others' opinions, and if they don't like you, they make sure you know. They are hunters, creatures of the night, and are perfectly willing to manipulate those around them for their own benefit (given the way house cats are pampered by humanity, even with their demands for attention and love). Cats also have been associated for centuries with witchcraft, being regarded as witches' companions, walkers and seekers of doors between realms, and in some places, bringer of changes in fortune or even deities themselves, disguised in smaller forms. Yet at the same time, cats are revered for their capacity for affection, their intelligence and charm, and their resilience against a much bigger world.**

**Thus, the idea of Loki being associated with those sharp-eyed, claw-wielding little hellspawns makes perfect sense to me (although being referred to as "bag of cats crazy" put me in mind of "going-to-be-drowned sack of kittens" instead of a simple 1-dimensional antagonist). The Nyan-cat he has on his lap is a bit special, though, and not only because the furry creature has a giant poptart for a torso.**

**This crack!fic, for future information, takes place after _The Avengers _and, in some ways, after _Thor 2: The Dark World. _Since most stories set in this universe take place in an AU where Loki seems to repeatedly return to New York City and spread mass mischief by routinely throwing the laws of Physics out the window like Tony, in this universe, Frigga was horribly wounded from the battle but ultimately survived (Thor and Loki still went to kill Malekith, as it was very uncertain whether she would survive the injury, so vengeance for a looking-likely-to-die Frigga was sought). **

**In addition to this, Loki survived the stabbing in Svartalfheim but left the throne of Asgard be (Odin is..._unspeakable _to me, in both comic!canon/film! canon and a good chunk of Norse mythos, but as Frigga would likely be unhappy (at least from what we can see in film!canon) if he actually were dead and she lived, I've decided on leaving him alive in this. Thor also clearly needs to learn some more (and take a nice refresher course in humility and familial kindness) if he ever is to actually take on the throne (and he seems to like his role as an Avenger much better, so I'm leaving him doing that instead). I think Loki certainly has the skill set required, but not enough patience or proper reputation for permanent rule over the land that disliked him so much, given that they clearly didn't respect him beforehand when he took the throne in the first _Thor _film. Instead, Loki has left Asgard permanently, seeking to live somewhere without a lifetime of painful memories). **

**Instead, our favorite Norse God of Mischief has taken up residence on Midgard, free to live out life on his own without fear of being hunted down and executed, so long as he keeps himself out of the sight and hands of human authorities (Thor, at least for now, doesn't know that Loki survived, but given how he's been fooled into thinking him dead before, it really isn't very surprising...). **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the pop cultural references, songs, characters, or places shown in this. **

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><p>Steve Rogers, known also as Captain America, looked on at the bizarre sight before him with both apprehension and a good bit of confusion as he reminded himself that, since aliens had invaded New York city, finding an alien once-prince cuddling with what appeared to be a cat crossed with a packaged, sugary snack food should not be so hard to believe.<p>

The call for the Avengers to assemble had been issued by Director Fury, after a street camera by Central Park spotted the dark-haired marauder twirling the stick of yew wood (Fury outright refused to acknowledge it properly as a wand in the debriefing) back and forth between his thin fingers, conjuring flashes of brightly-coloured sparks and soap bubbles, apparently for the amusement of the bizarre creature curled up on his lap, watching the magical light show with bright, button-round eyes.

Frowning slightly, he turned to the man beside him. "What do you make of this? I don't...I don't really know what to do here."

Given the circumstances, it wasn't surprising.

They had seen Loki in Stuttgart, sharp-tongued and vicious, imperiously commanding the gathered humans to kneel before him after he had taken out someone's eye. He had been wild-eyed, his voice a sharp, demanding roar, terrifying and mesmerizing all at once, as if speaking in storms.

They had seen Loki imprisoned upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, a pane of bullet-proof glass the only barrier separating a mad, cunning god from the valuable technology and hundreds of humans aboard. He had paced the glass cage, taunted and sing-songed, a feral being, in full view of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance equipment, and yet the unsettling aura of his presence persisted to keep everyone else balancing on a knife edge.

They had seen Loki, wrists chained and shackled, a muzzle silencing his tongue, binding his mouth shut in a way both effective and cruel. Steve had been reminded of the Norse myth involving that same mouth being sewn shut at the strange, unsettling sight, and the cold gaze of the chained alien had served to leave many a night since haunted with half-forgotten nightmares. He had seen victims of war from his own time, and though he would never, ever group Loki into the same category as those who had suffered the horrors of the war camps and the sickening hells of civilian oppression and wartime cruelty, the blank, empty expression in those ancient eyes had reminded him frighteningly of those who had come out of the war as empty shells of their former selves, bereft of purpose and left to wonder what had gone wrong, what they had done wrong, when did it all _start _and when did it _end._

When Thor had come to them several months ago, he had told them, albiet a bit shakily, that Loki was dead, having perished from a stab wound while fighting alongside him in Svartalfheim, and that Odin had releaved him of his duties as crown prince, leaving him free to pursue a life here on Earth with his lover Jane.

The reactions had been mixed.

Jane was silent about the matter, but would embrace Thor whenever possible. Darcy reacted similarly. Dr. Selvig was rather happy about the news, but given his time spent under mind control, no one could blame him.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had removed Loki's file from the _Off-World Enemy _list.

Clint, a look of dark satisfaction briefly flashing in his eyes, had spent the day practicing archery on moving targets provided in Stark Tower's semiofficial training zone. Natasha had accepted the news with a curt nod, silent and unruffled.

Tony had shaken his head, muttered something about missed drinks, and then vanished down to his workshop for the day.

Bruce had sighed, giving Thor a brief shoulder squeeze for emotional support, and handed him a bucket-sized mug of calming tea.

Now, months later, it appeared that their former enemy was most certainly alive, and even looked, for lack of a better term, bizarrely, almost unnervingly, _human. _He had been a wild maelström of chaos, grandiose speeches and megalomania during New York's alien fiasco, and now he was sitting quietly in a tree with a cat...poptart...creature. There was no loud speech demanding subjugation of humanity, there was no invading armada of creepy space-insects here to devour the city like cockroaches roaming a garbage heap, and he looked almost terrifyingly _calm._

Steve knew how to fight the enemy. He knew how to distract, to restrain, to slowly but surely take down the opposition until the battle had ended and the people could rejoice as the evils of the world were taken away to judged and punished for their crimes.

He did _not _know how to deal with a former enemy who seemed perfectly nonchalant with the fact that he was in the middle of the city that he'd nearly obliterated, a former enemy who wore regular clothes and apparently owned a pet cat.

"This like something out of the Twilight Zone or something. I'm not drunk enough to deal with this, I'm _not_."

Steve turned to give Tony a mildly reproving glare at the mention of alcohol. Tony, for his part, appeared completely unfazed by said glare.

"I'm not kidding, Cap, this is just wierd. I can deal with Reindeer Games when he's going for world domination while dressed for the space Viking version of an S-n-M club, I've got nothing for how to deal with...with _this_."

The formerly frozen soldier could sympathize with the confusion. This was not something covered in their protocol.

"So...what do we do, then? I mean, he's not actually destroying anything or hurting anyone..."

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders, brow furrowing in thought. "Technically, since he's still listed as legally dead by S.H.I.E.L.D., I don't think we can do anything."

This did not sit well with the archer perched high up on the roof. "He may be registered as dead, Tony, but he's still a war criminal. We're entitled to kick his ass, he's on Earth after he nearly turned New York into rubble, for god's sake!"

"You're just sore because he had you brainwashed."

"I've got every right to be pissed off for that, and you know it! How'd you like someone in your head, telling you to help them with their lunatic plans, forcing you to help build their goddamn-!"

"Barton, _stop._"

Steve didn't like to give a command to his friend, but it was necessary.

It had only been for a split second, but Tony's eyes had flickered with the memory of something _horrible_, his skin turning a shade paler.

He'd seen more than enough men during war suffer from memories of things they wanted desperately to forget experiencing, things no man should have to have gone through.

He didn't know what Tony had experienced to leave him with that sickeningly haunted look, but he knew better than to ask about something painful, breaching a closely gaurded privacy.

But that didn't mean he couldn't step in if someone went too far.

Clint fell silent after a moment, sharp eyes registering the slight headshake of _enough _from Steve.

Natasha's attention, meanwhile, was focused elsewhere: namely, the original subject of their debriefing.

Loki's pale fingers rubbed the cat's short, folded ears with a deceptively gentle air, smoothing down stray hairs. The feline's purring became stronger, head tilting upwards as a little strawberry-pink tongue darted out to lick at the thin digits affectionately. A soft, almost unnoticable chuckle chimed in the air as the god looked on at his feline companion, a hint of affection in the ancient green gaze.

This affection promptly vanished as, with a sudden, sharp _thwackkkk_, Clint loosed an arrow, shooting the explosive-tipped projectile at hair-raising speed at their target.

There was no hostile reaction. The god did not bother to rise from his perch, or even look up. He simply vanished, the air around him shimmering like a heat mirage for a split second as he disappeared, the cat-creature scrambling up from his lap to his arms immediately.

Clint blinked in confusion and quickly mounting rage as his would-be "pin-cushion" seemingly blinked out of existance, before letting out a stream of curse words as he realized that the god had left him a parting gift.

Safely relocated to the rooftop of an apartment building on the other side of the park, Loki felt a smirk dance around the edges of his mouth as his scrying spell revealed the reddening, anger-filled visage of Clint as the archer took in the sight of his arrow supply replaced by several dozen candy cane sticks, the new bubble-gum pink dye marring his previously brown hair, and the huge, flashing neon sign (which, judging by the casino insignia at the bottom, had been shamelessly whisked from Las Vegas) hanging in midair before him blaring the words _TOO SLOW. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, HMM?_

The trickster hummed in contentment, vanishing silently along with his armload of cat as a shriek of "_LOKI, YOU BASTARD__!_" echoed through Central Park.


	3. Home is where the cat is

**A/N: And kitty makes part 3. I didn't think I would get so much positive response to such a strange idea, but I'm quite happy with the results. **

**NOTE: I honestly have no proper idea how a legally "dead" alien ex-prince would find his bearings on the world he tried to conquer only a short while earlier, but it's Loki, and he wouldn't be Loki if he didn't have a backup plan... for the backup plan... of his extra backup plan. Given that he'd have his magic (we all know he'd find a way to keep and use it, one way or another), he'd be able to settle down and find a nice little niche somewhere for himself, and then figure out where he wants to go from there.**

**Also, the building where our resident mischief god has "set up shop", so to speak, is partially based upon Charles Xavier's home for mutants, as well as the wonderful little bed-and-breakfast inn I stayed in while I was in Wales last summer. The design of both the interior and exterior of _this_ building, as well as the design of Loki's little "hole in the wall" apartment, is of my own design.**

**I may be rather late now to have seen it, but the BBC's 2009 rendition of Shakespeare's _Hamlet _has, as of last Wednesday (and finished as of this Tuesday), at last graced my eyes, as well as the lovely news of the recent Shakespearian performances at the Globe Theatre. This chapter thus results from the surge of energy and glorious, angst-riddled madness that it, and the terrifying glory of the combined acting skills of the men who played the good doctor, the 10th Doctor, and the Norse God of Mischief, gave to me.**

**If this chapter seems a bit too non-crackish for you, don't worry, it's only to establish back story. The next chapter will have our dear trickster running around with the poptart-kitty and turning Midgard upside-down soon enough.**

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><p>Considering the magic he'd spent to add the new changes to his former minion's appearance, Loki felt slightly tired as he teleported off the rooftop and into a hidden back alley of downtown Manhattan. Looking down to check on the cat in his arms, he felt a flicker of affection as he noted in amusement that his pet seemed even more tired than he himself felt, blinking up with sleepy eyes and letting out a little yawn.<p>

"Come along, then," he murmured quietly. "To home, we go."

The only answer was a soft _mmmrrrrrrr_ as his furry companion cuddled up to his chest, the large round eyes blinking sleepily.

The god felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards, threatening to become a full-blown grin at the sweet sight. It had been a long, long, long time, it seemed, since anyone had given him such unspoilt, absolute trust, such readily given affection.

He relentlessly pushed back the little, annoyingly insistent voice that whispered that such assumptions held an exception.

The exception thought he was dead, after all.

Forcing his mind to turn to less touchy subjects, Loki let his magic run through him, saturating his body with energy, and opened his eyes when the transformation was complete.

Loki had been a god of many talents to the people of Midgard back in the olden days, when he had been among those worshiped. Even if not all the old tales were true, there was still a grain of truth concerning some of his powers.

Of all his gifts, shapeshifting was among the most useful, now more than ever.

The cat in Loki's arms looked up, completely calm as he took in the sight of his owner-turned-secretary. Clad in a charcoal-grey pencil skirt, a long-sleeved powder blue blouse, and grey sheer stockings with comfortable mary jane flats, Loki, who now currently resembled an upscale female secretary with a thick mane of golden curls, now looked even farther removed from his previous incarnation. His cat was also in on the disguise, having been given a mild illusion charm which left anyone other than Loki himself seeing only a large to-go tray with a neatly folded stack of white napkins and several containers of premium hot coffee.

Walking out of the alley with his pet in his arms, the god hummed quietly, content with his deception. The cat leaned back, pressing close as the large eyes slipped shut for a nice long nap.

Earlier on, if he'd wanted to, Loki could have simply teleported himself all the way back to his new abode. However, the magic he'd used to prank his former minion had left him lacking the reserves needed to transport himself such a distance. Instead, a smaller quantity of magic could be used to hide his identity as he traveled. Disguises were among his more versed magics, a small flicker of energy being the primary expense in comparison to the sizable chunk that would be required to go directly home.

Almost idly, he wondered for a moment what the expression on the humans' faces would be if he lifted this pretense and showed himself.

_They probably would become frightened, some might run screaming, others would call for help, and in the end I would have the Avengers coming after me for the second time today. There is only so much of their company I can endure in 24 hours, and that muzzle is **never **coming near me again._

As he continued to walk, down streets and street corners, across streets and walkways, past parks and shops and tangled snarls of apartment buildings, the disguise changed itself time and time again accordingly. By the time the god had walked past several department stores, a half dozen coffee shops, two parking lots, and a recreational park, his magic had left the people of Midgard seeing not only a secretary, but also several different businessmen, multiple appropriately dressed European and Canadian tourists, and a college student or two.

Several times, he felt eyes staring at him, though it was not out of fear and horror that their would-be ruler was among them. His disguise was too well woven for recognition to dawn, too intentionally simple for anyone to give him anything more than a brief passing glance before he faded from memory.

His appearance was instead noticed for a different reason: the simple, natural feeling of body appreciation. Disguised or not, Loki's pride was still strong enough to make itself known that he have a somewhat dignified air, a certain elegance of body language, if not entirely in looks.

The fact that his pet would be woken up if he cursed every human who shamelessly stared at a consistently attractive disguise was the only thing keeping him from letting loose a little magic and giving a terrible fright to the crush of humans milling around him on the sidewalks and streets.

He did _not_ want his pet upset with him. The little furry menace would be _unbearable. _The big eyes would water with tears of betrayal, there would be pitiful mewing, the kitchen would have little paw prints tracking water or flour or mud all over the countertop, their home would be subject to hairballs and little mice and bird carcasses in inopportune places. There would be no ear-rubs, no purring, no shameless demands to be held and petted and given Eskimo kisses. Loki would not have a warm, soft, furry, purring pillow curled up by his heart at night to keep out the chill that never seemed to go away otherwise, no matter how many blankets and comforters he piled on.

_No, definitely cannot upset him. _

It was strange now, to think that his life had changed so much within the space of only a few Midgardian years.

He had gone from a palace, to the Void, to the deadscape of Chitauri space, to Midgard, back to Asgard (this time to a cell), then to the cracks between realms to Svartalfheim, and then to Midgard again, then to Asgard again, then finally ending once more at Midgard.

He had gone from being a prince, to a man left for dead, to the leader of an army not even fully his own, to a prisoner in the world he'd grown up in, to an escapee, and then to being left for dead in a realm over a thousand stars away.

Loki had accepted, if only for that brief moment, that he would die there, on a barren moon of a world, choking on his own blood, held in the arms of someone he both loved and hated more than anyone else in all the Nine Realms. He had focused in those last moments, and with the last of his strength, and managed to force a painful, bittersweet truth past blood-stained liar's lips.

The god had not thought he would survive, and a self-loathing part of what tattered, blood soaked silken flag remained of his spirit had wondered in the brief, painful moment if he even deserved to.

Yet it seemed that the Norns still spun his thread even there in the darkness. He survived, albeit barely.

Now...he was living among the humans...and at the beck and call of a _cat._

By now, he had accumulated enough energy to teleport himself the rest of the way home. Ducking into the restroom of the nearest coffee shop, there was a faint _crack _as he vanished from the lavatory stall, instantly transported upstate to the countryside miles and miles away.

What better place to hide, after all, then where one was least expected? No one would think to find the person who had attempted world domination to live all the way out _here._

Approaching his destination, the mad god shivered as memories welled up...

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><p><em>Upon that dusty, darkened plane of existence, Loki's still, cold form choked, sputtered like a candle in the gloom, and the dark prince had woken up from the arms of Death with a lie on his tongue and blood choking its way upwards in his aching throat. His body ached and burned in a thousand different places, but the stab wound he had received was no longer bleeding, already starting to fade and knit together as his magic, his one, true, faithful aide, slowly worked to heal him.<em>

_Unable to die properly even for a second time, the fallen god coughed up blood for several moments, then spared himself a surge of anger as he realized that he was alone. Thor and his mortal scientist had long since left him. The anger only lasted a moment. There was no point in wasting his emotions on the long gone. _

_When the guard came to fetch the body, Loki had knocked him unconscious, pocketed his shrunken body with what magic he could muster, assumed his form for his own and gone to see the Allfather, inwardly marveling at the ludicrous position of having to deliver his own apparent demise._

_The lack of emotion shown upon the ancient visage would have once enraged him, but as he looked at Odin from behind the eyes of the face he'd borrowed, the only emotion he could find was frigid acceptance._

_Briefly, he'd considered revealing himself, and attacking while the shock of the revelation kept the old king unmoving. He could kill him, assumed his appearance for himself, and rule while wearing his once-father's face, the people being none the wiser so long as he disposed of the corpse and kept up the ruse. _

_He could be king again._

_But then a soft call had reverberated around the room, light as a sunbeam across the earth. "Odin, my love, what is it?"_

_Loki had long since come to accept, if not embrace, the understanding that he had no heart. Monsters do not have the capacity for such things. _

_But the sweet song of that voice was the only exception since his incarceration that continued to remind him otherwise. _

_There she was, a little paler, a bit thinner, and with a handmaiden standing behind her in case she fell, but Frigga Allmother still looked as welcoming and lovely as ever to him. In that brief moment, he watched as Odin turned to her, and spoke of their once-son's death._

_Her expression crumpled like a flower wilting in unbearable heat, warm eyes sparkling with tears sharp and glittering as crystal. Odin approached her, reaching out to put a hand to one of her slender shoulders, and in that split second he suddenly seemed much less like an indifferent king, and much more like an old, old man, one who held the entire weight of his years all at once, and could barely hold it back from crushing him._

_A sickening sense of shame surged through him, brief yet brutal, as the vague sense that he was intruding upon something private, sacred. He suddenly felt like a child again, witnessing his once-parents comfort one another in that regal semblance of polite emotional restraint demanded of royalty. _

_It was there and then gone, like a flicker of sound across static. Bitter, thudding pain, familiar and dull as a heartbeat, __welled up like poisoned ichor from his still healing wounds, and he felt suddenly as if it was hard to breathe. Shuddering in his borrowed skin, Loki managed to come back to himself enough to force out a request for dismissal. The vague wave he received was enough to send him out of the room as fast as dignity allowed, __and then he was running, running, running..._

_He managed to teleport the guard whom he'd impersonated, leaving the unconscious form in the darkened hallways of a wing several floors down, just barely maintaining enough composure to wipe the man's memories clean of the events of earlier. _

_Loki, taking flight as fast as he dared, hurried__ to get to his old passageways out of the palace, unwilling to let himself, even in this borrowed skin, be seen by the other residents of the royal halls. He did not want to face the eyes which his mind, clouded by sentiments he'd previously thought buried, insisted would hold that same sickening sense of pity._

_Indifference, coldness, hatred, disgust, all guises upon faces which he had known as well as his words. Such bitter sentiments he could abide. having stroked such feelings into blazing witchfire for centuries by only being himself. _

_Pity? Affection, in spite of all his actions? Kindness, even, for the cuckoo-child, the rotted apple, the madman?_

_Loki had gone so long without such dainties that it was difficult to imagine he would be given any. The sentimental drivel of brotherhood and reason and times long gone bleated by Thor did not count, could **not** count, not when he had borne the brunt of a lifetime of degradation, of humiliation, of dislike both pitifully masked and disgustingly exposed, of living in the shadow of the golden light of Thor, of Asgard._

_"Come home!" What home? Where did he belong? _

_Did he ever belong?_

_A shadow has no place in the warm light of day._

_A spell has no place amongst the broadswords, the axes, the swords, the bows and arrows, the hammers and javelins and slingshots._

_A tongue of silver has no place among those of brass, of bronze, of gold that glowed too brightly, too gaudily, to let the pale one shine._

_A moon will wax and wane, eternally feeble in comparison to the glittering inferno of the bright, shining sun._

_Loki had no place in Asgard. He never quite fit in, like a puzzle piece from another set, and now, in death, he was cast adrift._

_So, then, what was his path now? A dead man is bereft of purpose, save to rot away quietly, unseen, in the dirt. To the rest of the universe, he was considered, once again, dead. _

_Loki did not intend to fulfill that purpose. A god, even a fallen one, even a half-mad, outcast, misfit one, desired better._

_Where, then, should he go?_

_The Nine Realms would offer him no quarter, not after all his actions had led to destruction, terror, and fear._

_But...Midgard, despite his recent actions of attempted conquest, might prove nonetheless a refuge. They had shown little to no defense against his magic. _

_He could cloak himself, shield his would-be abode from the Gatekeeper's gaze with spells. He could find a niche for himself upon that strange, small world, use his magic and his words to pass himself off as one of the many humans who wandered those lands, and none would have to be the wiser. He could not be judged, punished, discarded, if he was considered dead._

_None but his once-family (or was it still family, after all this time?) would possibly mourn him. Asgard would undoubtedly celebrate the eternal disappearance of that shadowed dark blight of a sorcerer within their gilded halls._

_Reaching the edges of Asgard's citadel, Loki took a small moment of time to stand upon the wall ringing the city in golden fire, turning around for a second to gaze one last time upon the home-that-never-was, the glittering cage of light and ten million bittersweet memories of a stolen life. Tears burned traitorously in green eyes, and he wiped them away before they could fall._

_Turning back to face the mountains, he reached inside himself, straining for a few tendrils of flickering magic, and felt it wash over him, cool and cleansing, as he regained the form he'd worn for nearly all his existence. _

_The change lasted only a moment, and then the form standing upon the wall vanished, flickering out of sight like a candle snuffed out by the wind._

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><p>Loki snapped out of his musings, letting the illusion he'd cast on them both earlier fall away. He looked up at the tall, cozy, slightly off-kilter building of old red brick and cement, drinking in the sight of the rose bushes and old, flower-filled garden that surrounded the front lawn, the grass deep green and wet with dew, strewn with wildflowers and clumps of greyish mushrooms. The weeping willow trees surrounding the grounds swayed and bobbed in the breeze fluttering through chilly air, the soft shushing noises of the branches seeming to welcome him. The brick chimney of the building's common room was puffing out smoke, and the stained-glass windows of the apartments glowed from within with cheerful golden light.<p>

It was early evening, and the tiny, winking golden light of fireflies fluttered about his knees as he continued on his way.

Slowly, silently savoring the feeling of being able to approach the small piece of this world that he could relax in, the god passed through the whitewashed kissing-gate entryway, pale fingers gently trailing along the deep green ivy clinging lovingly to the wood. Walking up the old path to the building entrance, Loki took a moment to drink in the sight of the large, heavy wooden doors, the reddish-brown wood and shining brass door knockers, before he pulled out a pair of old, knobbly black keys from his pocket.

Each resident had two keys, one to get into the building, and one for their chosen apartment within it. His pet often liked to play with them, causing Loki no end of trouble in ensuring that the keys were not ferreted out of his pockets and batted around like a toy.

_Such is life, when you're owned by a cat._

The saying itself was rather odd; he'd never once wanted to owned by anyone, though he'd never quite belonged, either. But he'd found that, at least here on Midgard, that when one lived with a cat, the cat influenced many decisions, leaving the question of ownership in the feline's favor.

Loki had never thought being "owned" by your own pet could be considered a form of penance, but perhaps this was the Norns' way of fiddling with his string of fate after the failed attempt to rule the world he now lived in.

Down several narrow hallways, up a winding, rickety wooden staircase with a floral rug, a turn left, and then finally both god and cat reached their destination: a tall wooden door of dark wood that took up the entire width of the narrow hallway. Loki's senses tingled as he felt the air, saturated with the magic of his home's protective wards, waver and warp around him.

The door was unlocked, and then shut behind them within moments, and Loki let out a deep sigh of satisfaction as he took in the welcoming sight of the shelves full of old books, the armchair with the thick quilt, the soft rug on the floor. The apartment whirled to life as he stepped across the threshold, his new book flying over to the table by his chair, the kettle put on and puffing away merrily as loose-leaf tea poured down into the infuser, incense sticks lighting up and emitting soft whorls of musky, earthy smoke into the air as soft light from self-lighting jars of crackling green flame illuminated the tiny cluster of rooms.

His new home may be rather small, even by Midgard's standards, but it is home nonetheless, because it is here that he can feel safe, and calm, and even somewhat content.

Curling up in his armchair and summoning a bone china teacup to rest beside him, Loki reclined in contentment, his pet immediately settling down to take his rightful place on the god's lap, stretching out with claws kneading the fabric of the quilt in lazy circles. Alabaster fingers stroked the soft, triangular ears as a soft wave of the hand gave leave for milk to pour down from the porcelain creamer into the steaming, golden ambrosia in the fluted cup.

Taking a slow sip, Loki hummed quietly as he relished the solace of his surroundings and company. The cat purred in response, nuzzling the lukewarm flesh of the god's midsection.

_It's good to be home._


	4. Grumpiness, Nostalgia, and Bye Bye Birdy

**A/N: I apologize for the lack of recent updates. School has become even more demanding, and I've been trying to get my work and class schedules for next year sorted out. My chosen field of work is proving to be putting my brain through its' paces, but forensics is far too interesting to give up on. **

**To mentally unwind, and to make up for my lag in chapters, here's part 4. Please enjoy this glimpse at the mind-bending, physics-defying magical insanity our God of Mischief and his little pet can get up to when he's not concerned with world domination! **

**About the cat's name: The name itself (or so the internet tells me) is Germanic in origin, combining the word _adel_ (noble) with _hraban_ (dark, raven) to create "dark and noble". Loki would only want an _interesting _name for his pet, after all...even if the name can also be taken as a jab at Loki's horned helmet.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains flashbacks of animal abandonment, and may or may not inspire feelings of sympathy for the subject of the abandonment in question, and also the mandatory-for-this-universe Loki-feelings that go along with it. **

* * *

><p>The rest of the night was spent reading, and when he'd climbed into bed, his pet had curled up in his arms, rubbing a soft, furry cheek against the god's left collarbone. Sleep came easily.<p>

When Loki awoke the next morning, the sun was a pale, champagne-gold coin outside his window, floating in a nest of greyish-white clouds. Birds chirped, in that universally annoying way done in mornings, and his pet...

His kitty wasn't there. Loki's sleep-fogged mind (a still somewhat unfamiliar state, given the many years of being constantly alert during hunting, battling, and training) registered the absence with a sour note, as pale hands automatically began reaching about, checking to see if his pet had simply moved a little farther away on the bed.

Several minutes of searching yielded nothing, save for a few handfuls of crisp white sheets and green-gold quilt fabric, and the god let out a groan of annoyance at the unfortunate find. Waking up in a warm bed, content and safe, and with a wake up nuzzle by his only real companion was _not _a luxury he planned to give up.

_Perhaps he woke up and felt hungry, and decided to go wait by his food bowl. Yes, that must be it._

Loki would not otherwise find it easy to forgive the terrible transgression of being left to wake up alone because of a bowl of premium cat food. The bed was always cold and lonely without the warm, comforting presence of his furry housemate to cradle close.

_Nothing to be done about it now, except to check and see if he's somewhere else in our quarters._

Taking a moment to breathe in deeply, Loki's eyes fluttered closed as he let his magic seep out in tendrils, gently extending through his small domain in search of the only other inhabitant, reaching out for that soft, welcoming aura that always felt like warm sunshine and was tinged with the feeling of ozone and fresh blood, presumably from the most recent "present" of a dead bird on the kitchenette's countertop.

Loki had memorized the aura of his pet from the very beginning, when he'd come to Midgard after his "death" in Svartalfheim several months ago. Now, as he found his cat curled up beside the porcelain food bowl with a pout on the chubby face, clearly stating _feed me!_, he was reminded of how he'd come across him in the first place...

* * *

><p><em>Forging a false identity and records had proved, while not truly difficult, nonetheless mentally exhausting. Choosing a home had not been the easiest of decisions, given that Thor still resided on Earth and the thunder god knew enough of his habits to potentially find him, but in the end, Loki had chosen a place of his own that would allow him to remain relatively close to New York City, enough so that he could occasionally check to see if his former opponents still harbored enough dislike to throw him off their world if he was ever found.<em>

_It wasn't because he would remain somewhat close to his once-brother. It was only so he could monitor him and his comrades and see if they'd come close to discovering him, that was honestly it. _

_Loki, while good at lying to others, was loathe to admit that he wasn't as good at lying to himself. _

_But the world still turned, the stars still twinkled as they were extinguished a million miles away, and Loki was still in need of a place of his own, if he was to reside here. The keys to his new apartment were handed over without fuss, and his neighbors in the building he now would live in were, while not overly friendly, polite and accommodating, and that was all the god needed. _

_Unfortunately, his new abode did not come equipped with food, and while Loki could use his magic to create his furniture and money, he was not able to use it to conjure food, or at least, food that he would find palatable. _

_So, after giving his new quarters some simple furnishings and pocketing some money, Loki managed to get directions from one of his new neighbors as to where the nearest grocery store was, cast a simple notice-me-not charm over himself, __and teleported to the location accordingly. _

_Living in Asgard for nearly his entire life had not exposed the ex-prince to many varieties of food, given that the majority of meals consisted of fruits, heavy stews, vegetable and meat dishes, and pint after pint of mead or wine. Thus, Loki found himself uncertain as to what to buy, and eventually leaving with several bags of vegetables and a shank of meat in plastic-wrap, feeling decidedly exhausted and wishing that Midgard didn't have so many ridiculous food choices. _

_As he walked out of the store, the day outside had meanwhile turned into a raging thunderstorm, complete with lightning and crashes of thunder fit to wake the dead, and Loki became drenched to the bone with frigid rainwater, just barely managing to conjure up the water-repelling charm needed to keep his groceries dry in time._

_The god found his temper reach its' breaking point of the day. Inwardly swearing, he'd glared at the offending, cloud-filled sky and wondered if it was worth alerting Thor to his presence on Midgard if it meant clearing up the aggravating tempest overhead. His magic coiled like a snake within him, ready to strike at a moments' notice to deliver a vicious counterattack..._

_But before he could change the weather, Loki heard a sharp mewl of discomfort, just barely audible over the thunderous din. Finding his interest momentarily piqued, he turned towards the direction of the noise, and found that it led into the alley next to the grocery store. Walking into the narrow space, he'd found a lopsided, soggy cardboard box left next to a dumpster and recycling bin, the words **FREE CAT **written in crooked, sloppy handwriting on the side with permanent marker._

_The creature, thin fur matted with grime and completely soaked by the rain, wasn't actually a fully-grown cat, as the advertising would suggest, but a feline just barely past kittenhood, and still small enough to fit in one of Loki's hands. Large, dark eyes looked up at the god with an oddly challenging stare, as if unwilling to admit defeat here, abandoned and cold, in a side-alley during a storm and no covering whatsoever._

_Loki found himself approaching the box carefully, hands held out placatingly, though he wasn't quite sure why. He had seen several abandoned animals during his previous stint on Midgard, and no humans had so much as batted an eyelash. But he'd grown up watching his once-mother tending her own chariot-pulling cats as lovingly as one would with treasured pets, giving them naught but the best._

_This one, unfortunately, had not been so lucky. Yet, the eyes that stared balefully up at him were not the sobbing, tear-soaked eyes of the defeated, but the brave gaze of a warrior standing alone, unwilling to let everything go and die, even in the face of being left for that grisly purpose. _

_Loki stared into the dark pools, and found in them a kindred spirit. _

_The god reached into the box, noting with disgust that there wasn't so much as a scrap of blanket to offer consolation in the face of abandonment, and scooped the tiny feline out of the box._

_"Let's go home," he said, and in that moment his new charge butted a tiny, damp head against his palm in affirmation. _

_Several days had been spent tending to his new housemate, drying and warming the tiny body, offering warm milk, giving scratches behind the ears, and getting as much information about taking care of the soft, furry creature as he could from neighbors, who waved aside his half-hearted excuses for "bothering" them and offered him some cat toys and recommendations for a check-up at the vet's. To his faint surprise, he'd found his new pet's coat was a dark, cloudy grey, short-haired but soft, and the eyes were a bluish-grey, like the thunderstorm he'd been found in, of a shade so dark as to seem black unless he looked closely. _

_The result was well worth the effort. The little creature, whom he'd named Adelram for his dark eyes and sleekly-maintained coat, became affectionate and rather cheerful, batting at his toys and nuzzling the god's shoulder whenever he demanded to be picked up and held._

_Though well-behaved around the humans who occasionally would be passed by or greeted in their apartment building, Loki found his pet was most interested in Loki himself, following him everywhere, a tiny, furry shadow that claimed his lap and purred like an engine, often nipping at pale fingers, and, to the god's mixed amusement and exasperation, being prone to bringing home dead mice and birds when Loki left the windows open, presenting his kills to his owner with the sharp, eager furvor of a job well done. Given that the blood and bones could occasionally be useful in helping strengthen their home's protective enchantments, the offerings were accepted, and the god would often replenish the wards while his pet sat beside him, crunching avian skulls like Midgardian candy as soft paws batted at Loki's hair._

* * *

><p>Now, several months of kitty-therapy had left Loki several degrees calmer, but nonetheless prone to the occasional relapse of distemper and mischief. Waking up to find his pet was not nearby to give him a good morning cuddle was not doing any wonders for his mood.<p>

Reaching into the kitchenette's dry goods cupboard, he pulled out a tin of salmon-flavoured cat food and emptied the contents into the bowl. "Ade, come eat your breakfast."

Adelram gave his owner a pleading look and batted his paws at the god's pajama pants.

"No, do _not_ give me that look. I woke up cold and lonely because of you, I'm not giving you any belly rubs right now."

The cat's eyes widened, looking dangerously close to emitting a waterfall of tears.

_No, I must remain strong. Must...not..._

A pitiful mewl was given. Loki felt his restraint crumble, much to his self-disgust.

"_Fine_, you ridiculous creature. But eat your food first, I will not have you complaining of hunger pains all morning."

Adelram cooed happily at his victory, padding over to his food bowl to tuck into the food with large, noisy gulps. Turning his attentions away from his feline companion, Loki cast a summoning charm to bring in the day's newspaper from the downstair's communal mail cubbyholes as he began making himself breakfast.

One small baked Florentine omelet and several cups of tea with milk later, the God of Mischief lowered his newspaper onto the table, a smirk beginning to form.

_I've not been having a very good morning, why not liven it up a bit? Those Avengers already spotted me yesterday, why not get a bit of enjoyment out of my little... ressurection hobby?_

Adelram, having finished with his own breakfast, promptly leapt into his owner's lap and began butting his head against the god's arm, demanding to be petted. Feeling in a much better mood, Loki obliged, stroking the feline behind the ears and humming Tchaikovsky's _Piano Concerto No. 1_ under his breath as plans began to form.

"We're going to need several bags of chicken feathers, a widespread sticking charm, and a map of the city of New York's underground..."

* * *

><p>Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Tony Stark gave the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. a deadpan stare, wishing he'd had the foresight to grab an extra-large cup of hot coffee and the last donut.<p>

"You're telling me Loki did _what _now? It's too early in the morning for jokes, Nicky."

"This isn't a joke, Stark. Now suit up and get down to Time's Square's 42 Street and Port Authority Bus Terminal, those giant chickens need to be contained!"

"Are you sure KFC hasn't filed a report saying a shipment of chicken's gone missing...?"

"NOW, STARK!"


	5. Giving Them hell, Penguins, & Tree-Kitty

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates, I've been trying, along with working on the latest in a series of essays, research papers on anatomy, and note compilations, to string together my new ideas in a somewhat (if only by crack!fic) believable manner. As it is, I hope you enjoy it (and all the little references I've sprinkled in).**

**Happy (belated) April Fool's Day (or Happy Fred and George's birthday, it's the same thing really. I hope you didn't forget to stick fish on each other's backs, to those of you lovely people in Europe who carry out the "April Fish!" tradition!). Also, in case I don't update again soon, Happy (belated) Earth Day (and I hope you all remembered to draw a circle!), and, for today (or yesterday, they never gave specifications), Happy 450th birthday to William Shakespeare! Even if people don't know the exact point of the start of his existence, the man made some darn fine plays and sonnets, and _Hamlet_, _Romeo and Juliet_, _MacBeth_, and _King Lear _are works that I am proud to have revisited both today, and these past few days in honor of it. Now, by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes...to you! Please enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: As usual, I own nothing but this story's idea. Please don't smite me with flaggings to the authorities for the references shown here. **

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><p>The day didn't improve for the Avengers. By the time noon had arrived, Central Park had gotten a time-traveling Beatles concert (which, fortunately for any government cover ups, vanished as quickly as it came, though not without Tony recording the event with the aid of J.A.R.V.I.S.), several blocks going to, through, and past Steinway Street had become subject to disembodied piano music, and the "giant chicken dilemma" was still ongoing, leading several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to be dispatched to help contain the damage and direct the physically altered civilians to the nearest restrooms, where warm water and vigourous scrubbing and pulling was applied to get the feathers out.<p>

By mid-afternoon, it had gotten, if possible, even stranger. The Empire State building had turned a multitude of colours for the past several hours, but, almost like a psychedelic cuttlefish choosing a new favourite camouflage, had recently become stuck on bright, almost-but-not-quite-eye-watering blue.

Stark Tower had been given a makeover, the "A" that had been the sole survivor of the whole name from the Chitauri invasion recoloured to bright red due to being covered in thousands of tiny, perfectly ripe apples, which promptly rotted several hours later, showering the balcony with thousands of wriggling green worms. Tony's private pool had drained, a gigantic pedestal rising out of it, hosting a gigantic library devoted only to books on either cats or Norse mythology, and smelling distinctly of temporal dust, store-bought vanilla custard and freshly-baked fish fingers. The lab and workshop were, surprisingly, left unharmed, although Pepper, upon checking that there was no lasting, harmful damage to the Tower, found Dum-E whirring and chirping happily in binary, apparently oblivious that the foam being liberally applied to the cars from the fire extinguishers had been dyed a bright, eye-watering shade of lime green, complete with creating huge clouds of soap bubbles upon each spray. When they popped, Pepper was rather dismayed to discover that they let out a painful screeching sound, which in turn set off all the car alarms in Tony's expensive, _and _extensive, antique car collection.

There was a huge parade of "Pepto-Bismol" pink elephants that had materialized like a bad LSD trip ride right in the middle of Broadway's latest production, causing the stage director to run off the set, screaming that his childhood was coming to haunt him. _  
><em>

Clint had gotten trapped in an ice cream parlor downtown by a blockade of customers, all of whom were causing massive worry of airborne toxin-caused hallucinations in the waitresses, ice cream scoopers, and the woman manning the register because the moment they stepped through the door, everyone would turn into a penguin. Judging by the frantic shouts of the archer audible through the team's communications network, Clint was trying rather valiantly (although he was failing) to keep the cashier from calling 911, the F.B.I., or the nearest local news station to explain the situation. To her credit, the cashier was putting up a rather impressive fight, repeatedly squirming out of the archer's attempt at restraining her with the help of several years of dedicated yoga practice, and all the while shouting that she didn't care that he was an Avenger, she wasn't getting paid anywhere near enough to both work the register_ and_ be a zoo keeper.

Natasha had become embroiled in a massive takeover of Times Square, which had become the location of a sudden, explosively loud flash mob rendition of _Mamma_ _Mia_...in rather melodic verses translated, save for the actual songs, entirely in Swedish. She would have finished establishing crowd control earlier, but halfway through the production, the nearby subway entrance spat out a slew of white-collar office workers heading out for a lunch break, and the new crowd promptly stared at the _Mamma Mia _production, and responded to it by lunging forwards shouting an explosive exclamation of,"BRAVEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!" at the tops of their lungs. The _Mamma Mia _people answered with a shout of "FOR NARNIA!", and a dance-fight broke out, with the white-collar workers giving a jig, and the _Mamma Mia _actors and actresses fumbling through the dance moves from _West Side Story. _

Steve had perhaps the least painful job of chaos containment, given that he was currently trying to save a rather adorable stripey orange kitten, who, true to the stereotype for his kind, had gone and ended up getting stuck up one of Central Park's trees while chasing a rather fat pigeon. It wouldn't be so bad, except the little furry bundle was more stubborn than a 100-year old patch of mold in the sewers, and was firmly refusing to come down, despite Steve's gentle pleas, coaxing, and offering of organic salmon or chicken-flavoured feline treats. The supersoldier's attempts to climb the tree, reach out, and pluck the resisting feline from his perch had only come to two out of three steps before the poor man had received a rather sharp swipe at his face by the tiny set of claws.

Staring up at the teeny orange puff-ball enthroned on a high bough of the tree, Steve set his jaw, eyes darkening with determination to royal blue. One way or another, he was going to get that kitten out of that tree, even if he had to call in Agent Coulson to set a selection of pillows and mattresses all around so he could shake the stubborn bit of adorable fluff loose without risking the humane society hunting him down and stringing him up by his spandex suit.

Tony...was not having what could be called "fun" by any human definition of the word, much less that of a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist's definition of the word.

But, to his credit, being the unwelcome target for bird poop by what seemed to be every single pigeon and pet bird in the entirety of New York City was not his favorite thing to be. Constant swerving, diving, ducking, and weaving in and out of city traffic could only put off the pesky battalion of birds for so long, and J.A.R.V.I.S. had been incapacitated with a harmless but nonetheless _very _annoying loop of background music that caused the theme for the _Angry Birds _game to play every time the AI relayed instructions to Tony for where to hide from the terrifying avian mob.

Tony wondered vaguely, as he ducked into the nearest subway to hide for a few precious minutes, if he was being subjected to the more sadistic cousin of the _Birds _cult film situation. If he was...

_Well, I suppose it's a good thing I willed all my shit to Pepper. Whatever the hell Loki put in the water today, it's turned the city upside-down, inside-out, and left it reeling on the mother of all acid trips. _


	6. Ohana, means Family, Family Means

**A/N: Apologies galore for the long, long wait! You can all place your blame respectively upon, in this order: the last two semesters of school, school-related projects and homework workloads, getting sucked into the glorious, mind-warping Eldrich horror of _Commonplace Books_'/Mr. Finks's/Mr. Cranor's _Welcome to Night Vale _(I regret nothing, and yet everything, for conversion to it's lovely, eyeball-searing terror. ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD...), ****convention-going (and getting poked in the chest by a homemade Glowstick of Destiny at said convention), several rather long family summer trips, taking up a fandom-related cross-stitching project, hosting several visitors, preparing for another semester of school, and writing for several other stories that refuse otherwise to leave me alone.**

**NOTE #1: Marvel's _The __Avengers: Age of_ Ultron was...a mixed bag for me (although I will be making references to it later in this story). On one hand, it was awesome, at least to me. On the other hand (WARNING: VAGUE BUT MAJOR SPOILERS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!), what happened to Quicksilver seemed utterly needless to me (this is the guy who moves so fast Mjolnir moves in ultra-slow motion when he looks at it while running, _why _did he let that happen to him? That move was pointless, except for what the impact was on Scarlet Witch...although I'm willing to be _Marvel_ will bring him back in a bigger role somehow, it's rather hard to stay down permanently in the Marvel film!verse recently...). Also, Tony's experience with tech, J.A.R.V.I.S., and pop culture all should've put up a million red flags _before_ he could think of making a real A.I. using alien technology, even with the mind-altering influence. But _nope_, let's build a super-massive A.I. to be a Big Brother sentinel for the entirety of Earth, and let's make it using the scepter that was previously used to alter people's minds, blow up helicopters and cars, and contains a rock of incomprehensible crazy power that really should be just locked away from light fingers and any sort of mind to play with...**

**NOTE #2: I have literally no idea if the _Marvel _Comic Universe has Loki as a parent, but, given what happened to his poor kids in Norse mythology (dear gods above, it was utterly _horrible_), I'm going to settle with the fanon theory that Loki was the godly equivalent of someone in their late teens/early twenties when the events of the first _Thor _came into play, and that, as far as we know, he has no kids of his own and already had enough childish antics to deal with just keeping Thor from being too much of an idiot. **

**Why are there no kids, you may ask? The answer is simple: if I put in his awesome mythological kids, all I'll be able to think of is the absolute pile of _cacamas _(my deepest apologies to anyone Irish who might be offended!) that Odin and the other gods and goddesses put them through (it's enough, if I think about it too much, to make me want to set fire to Odin's beard and poke out his other eye, rip the bridle and bit from Sleipnir and give him back to Loki along with a mountain of sugar cubes, _and_ evoke curses of infertility and indescribably painful boils for everyone involved, just for starters...). **

**So therefore, according to this _AU, _up until this point there are no babies by Reindeer Games, the bag-of-cats is having far too much fun driving Midgard up the walls with tricks to think of _that_. Adelram, being the cat who adopted a god (anyone who's ever had cats probably can attest that the cat takes on _you_, you just pamper the little fuzzy hellspawns to bits like the good little human that you are~), is an exception. If (and/or when) there _are_ any little sprogs, they'll be like Ade: wonderful, strange little rescue-babies found here on Midgard, and in desperate need of a good home and lot of love. Name suggestions are appreciated!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the idea for this story. All references to anything are done for entertainment purposes only. Please don't try to send me to Desert Bluffs for taking so long to get this chapter out, as I very highly doubt that I'll survive the machinations of StrexCorp, or the wrath of their immensely disturbing Smiling God.**

**The next chapter will be less...angst-ridden, and more upbeat, I promise!**

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><p>Among the many interesting sites of the city of New York, there were, sprinkled here and there, the gems of those timeless sources of knowledge: libraries.<p>

Given the incredible amount of digital media available nowadays able to provide the curious minds of the public with any sort of information they desired, libraries on Midgard were not _quite_ as often used, or filled up with people willing to spend the long hours often required to read books before checkout. Most people were more willing to look up the information using their cellphones, computers, or digital tablets, so the quiet domiciles of book-based information were not always as popular, save for during cram sessions or forced fulfillment of the old-fashioned researching style that plagued students the world over for the sake of their school projects and research papers.

Loki, of course, was not among those people.

For a large portion of his life, the self-exiled former prince had found a refuge in the libraries of Asgard, eagerly soaking up the knowledge offered from between the pages of the thick, often-dusty tomes, memorising as much as he could when the subject being read pleased him. The towering shelves often passed from floor to ceiling in height and extended for miles, creating a thick, dizzying labyrinth of information to be explored. In youth, there was a certain comfort, cold and fragile as it sometimes seemed, in the silent understanding that Thor and his friends, nor the other children interacted with in training sessions for battle, would ever think to come and find entertainment of any sort in a library, of all places, much less the one he most frequented, that of the palace. He could not be mocked for his fighting skills, or choice of weapon, or love of magic, in a place where the warrior-children often refused to tread.

Now, he found that, despite the somewhat unfortunate fact of these libraries mostly being much smaller and less informative than those of Asgard, these repositories of books were generally quite cozy, often having a little café or tearoom attached, complete with menus for sandwiches, pre-made pastries, and what Loki was inwardly certain were among the most ridiculously overcomplicated caffeine-filled drinks known to the Nine Realms.

He had learned enough complex spellwork over the years to make even the most dedicated of students cringe in horror, but the mere _knowledge_ that somewhere on Midgard there existed a soul brave, or crazy, enough to order a gallon of espresso shot-filled coffee laden with a noxious mixture that included protein and matcha powders, over half a dozen different sugary syrup flavourings, at least three different types of candied chips, a whole cupful of both soy and cream _each, _and a heaping drizzle of gooey caramel and fruit was enough to lead to disgust, nausea, and the beginnings of a migraine over pondering what would drive such a person to order such a hazardous-seeming beverage. _No _mortal living here seemed to be willing to risk their health for something _that _disgusting-sounding_. _

Today, he'd sequestered himself away in a little nook in a library located several hours from his little apartment, a mug of hot black tea and a plate of warm biscuits placed by his elbow, and Adelram had taken it upon himself to curl around the god's neck and shoulders, nuzzling the dark hair as Loki directed his attentions onto a collection of Midgardian mythology.

There was little to nothing he could find so far that seemed more than vaguely correct, though much of it was at least somewhat amusing. The stories he found of himself were utterly, hideously, disturbingly _wrong_, of course (and thank the Norns for that, he didn't know what he would do if he actually _had _been the one to experience the insane antics of the recorded Norse pantheon, and _why _did he have so many alleged children?), and there were quite a collection of them to be found among the shelves of European mythos, but it seemed that either the humans had mistranslated a great deal of the exploits he and Thor had gotten up to during their previous visits some centuries before, or it was all a compendium of nonsense written down while the author was still deep in his cups and couldn't be bothered to double-check what he'd scrawled into memory.

Staring at the rather thick tome lying open in front of him on the table, his mind shrank back in inward horror and disgust at the some of the more..._unpleasant _readings. _Bound with his entrails? A sword shoved through his maw? Banished to rule an empty, lifeless wasteland of forgotten, shunned dead as a puppet-queen? Ripped apart by his own brother as a mindless wolf? Trapped to an existence as Odin's warhorse? What sick madness has been written down in this planet's mythos that **those **are what they think of? _

His appetite brutally shredded by the violent, unpleasant lives and fates written upon the pages, he shut the cover and pushed the book away, a feeling of sudden, overwhelming nausea threatening to make him ill.

_And they say _**_I'm _**_the disturbed one of the house of Odin. _

The feeling of contentment he had been experiencing was now slowly but surely ebbing away like water down a drain, and he sighed in frustration at how easily the day had taken such an unpleasant direction. Sipping the rest of his tea as a distraction, the god stared at the hastily-repelled book at the other side of the table, the gilded lettering embossed on the leather cover hiding the poisonous words inside.

Adelram, sensing the sudden change in mood, hissed at the book from atop his lofty perch of skinny alien shoulders, fur standing on end as he batted the air in front of him as if trying to swat a particularly annoying fly. A low sigh issued forth as the god stared in half-melancholy, half-amusement at his pet's antics.

_Perhaps this signals our time to leave this place, then. Words **that **poisonous should not be read again today. _

Getting up, he snapped his fingers sharply, letting the magic laced through the action send the books on the table back to their shelving spaces and cause the plate of biscuits, untouched thanks to the grim readings, to vanish into nonbeing. Looking at the mug of black tea sitting on the table, he suddenly wished it were something far, far stronger.

_Yes, definitely time to leave. _

Reaching up with thin hands, he effortlessly scooped Adelram from his shoulders and swept him into his arms, taking a small, split second to rest his forehead against the top of his pet's wonderfully soft, furry head, drinking in the small comfort it provided. Adelram rumbled softly, a low, deep purr resonating through his tiny body to fill the god's chest with shaking, hummingbird-bright warmth.

_Why they never had any of your kind back on Asgard, I'll never know. You are so much nicer than getting completely inebriated to cope with painful matters of the heart and spirit._

Sighing again, this time calmer, he straightened up and walked from the building, uncaring as to the odd looks he received (illusion to cloak his real appearance or not, mortals never were wont to look away from a man walking down the street while cuddling a tomcat). Emotionally drained from his dive into Midgard's mythology, he could only feel a dull throb of annoyance when he found himself feeling too burnt out to teleport home.

Thus, an impromptu walk began. Taking to the web of streets radiating out from the library, he strode through the maze of passing civilians hurrying back and forth through the streets, shops, and avenues in an endless bustling rush to somewhere or another, watching in vague amusement as several of the less "aware" teenage mortals, engrossed in responding to the stimuli on their handheld devices, often didn't notice until it was too late that they were about to crash into another person, a garbage can, and in rather painful-looking case, a streetlamp.

_Endlessly busy, the lot of them. How they can stand it defies my understanding. Why waste so much time with only rushing about? You barely take the time to take in what is before you. _

Although, the god reluctantly conceded, it wasn't as if there was too much of interest to look at, out here. The buildings of the surrounding town area were mostly similar, with hometown family-run businesses and small stores and bakeries. There was much less in the way of flashing neon signs, billboards, flashing electronics, or huge spires of glass and metal than in the huge, sprawling metropolis only a few hours away.

_How utterly dull._

Continuing on his way, he noted, with no small amount of distaste, that the sky was darkening again, the clouds looking heavy and dark with their icy cargo. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but wind was starting to pick up, and he had an inkling that it would only worsen. People were hurrying faster now, shops putting up _Sorry, we're closed _signs in windows as employees hurried out the doors in coats and yanking open umbrellas. The bite of slowly dropping temperature in the air left his magic tingling and his skin prickling in unhappily-remembered thoughts of blue and cold, and he pulled Adelram closer, buttoning his coat shut, the cat nuzzling vigourously into his chest and rubbing a tiny, pink nose over the god's heart, as if trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to crawl into his ribcage to curl up around the beating organs within and warm them back to wholeness.

_A storm is descending, and in this weather, teleporting might be dangerous..._

The thought of using the oft-done spell to return them both home, only for the wild magic of Midgard's unpredictable natural forces to possibly interfere with the mechanics of the trip, potentially even dangerously so, was not a risk he wanted to take. Electrocution by Mjolnir was difficult enough to withstand, electrocution by what could possibly be _multiple _simultaneous lightning strikes was _not _acceptable. He _might _survive it, Adelram would certainly _not. _

_ We need shelter. _

Stepping off the sidewalk, he ducked into the nearest building to gain a hideaway from the ill-seeming weather.

As he stepped through the doors, green eyes blinked several times, widening as their owner took in the sight inside.

The rows and rows of animal cages and glass tanks were, admittedly, to be expected. However, the odd lack of persons watching over the store was not, though the crooked, still-swinging _Sorry, we're closed _sign on the front implied the evacuation wasn't too long ago.

Songbirds with bright, angelic warbling tunes and tropical specimens with huge, arching feathers and colourful wings clustered in trash can-sized cages and perched on bamboo stands. Clusters of snakes, coiling and slithering over and around each other in piles of muscle and scale, each ranging in size from as thick around as a wrist to thin as the width of a pen, with cold, jewel-bright eyes that glittered hungrily from behind the glass. Tanks full of soft, squeaking mice, hamsters, or rats, whiskers twitching and tiny paws scampering about. Pens with wriggly, furry puppies emitting high-pitched yipping and barking as they playing tug-o'-war with chew toys sat next to pens of tiny, pudgy kittens with strawberry-pink noses and stumpy little tails playing with toys filled with bells and studded with soft tassels to bat curious paws at.

Adelram was utterly _fascinated_.

The tomcat, curled up against Loki's chest with tiny, needle-sharp claws wound firmly into the fabric of his coat, stared with wide, curious eyes at the sight of the cloud of tiny felines playing in the pen on the warm floor.

At first, Loki couldn't decipher the surprised look on his pet's face, wondering if his smaller companion simply was interested in one of the toys. But upon looking a bit closer, it soon became clear to him that the tomcat wasn't interested in the toys, but the cats playing with them.

Having only ever seen Adelram interact on occasion (and even then with wariness, as he was still smaller than some of them, a trait which Loki had a feeling would be permanent) with the few adult cats kept as pets by a few of his neighbors in their shared building, the god could only surmise that, given the unfortunate beginnings for his pet before he'd found him during that fateful storm, the cat likely had little to no memory of any littermates, or of any other cats his own age. Being left in the cardboard box all by himself to be given away like an unwanted pair of socks suggested, at least to Loki, that his dear, faithful feline was possibly the runt of his litter, too small or not of the right breeding to want to keep. There would be little to no chance to bond with a mother cat or littermates if it seemed he didn't "fit".

The god clenched his fists at the memories _that _train of thought evoked, and promptly shoved the musings down. _No point in getting angry when he's here, and he's fine. That's all that truly matters. He is wanted, and loved, and safe. _

His pet was a warm, reassuringly solid weight in his arms, alive and well. As if he could hear Loki's thoughts and had deemed them too dark to continue, the tomcat meowed sharply, long, sleek tail swishing up to flick against the god's neck in a seemingly-unwitting distraction. The haze of pseudo-projecting vanished as if dispelled by a banishing hex, and he stroked the twitching, silky folded ears in silent thanks.

A crack of thunder from outside suddenly _BOOMED_ harshly, rattling the windows and leaving the animals fidgeting and chattering restlessly. The puppies let out a panicked chorus of barking, the kittens mewing and hissing in turn. Scowling at the sudden noise, Loki pulled Adelram closer, silently weaving a muffling spell into the air of the store so his pet's sensitive, short folded ears wouldn't hurt from the incessant noise, and watched the multitude of kittens in the pen converge into a huge, fluffy ball in the face of the storm now happily raging outside.

All, that is, save for one.

Curled at the back of the pen, almost completely obscured by the shadows cast by a nearby stack of sacks of dry pet food, was a tiny kitten with a whipcord lean body and lopsided ears. The thunder _cracked _across the air again, and while the other kittens hissed and meowed, huddling into balls together to help avoid the noise, the little body in the shadows merely shivered, then curled up into a lone ball, an unusually-long tail wrapping around the tiny form as if to serve as a makeshift blanket.

Surprised at the sight, Loki leaned over the side of the pen, peering down at the mere scrap of a fledgling cat huddled in on themselves in the dark. Even in the shadows cast by the stacked food, he could see faint tremors wracking the tiny body.

Adelram stared for a long moment, then uttered a plaintive cry and wriggled his body out of lean, jacket-clad arms; before Loki could grab him and pull him back, the tomcat landed in a graceful crouch in the pen, then padded over softly to the small, shaking form huddled in the back. A twitch of whiskers, and then the little pink nose nudged the kitten's forehead. The smallest, almost ridiculously _soft _little mewl rent the air as the tiny head tilted up, revealing a softly twitching dark nose, a yawning mouth, and a pair of big, bright eyes, the colour an unnervingly poisonous-looking greenish-yellow on the left, and a bright, starry blue on the right. Adelram stared for a moment, then licked one of the lopsided ears and turned to face him. Judging by the look in his eyes, Loki knew there was a question being asked.

_I like this. It's like a small me, only not. Can we keep it?_

The miniscule scrap of fur let out a sneeze. Adelram curled around the tiny body, meowing softly, and stared at the god with the eyes of one who already knew he held victory well in his grasp.

Sighing, Loki held out his arms. _At least I know enough vanishing spells to deal with the extra shedding. _

He could almost _feel _the rumble of Adelram's purring crackling through the air as he picked up the smaller feline by the scruff of the neck, walking up to the god with bright eyes and a triumphant air.

"Come here and warm yourselves, you insufferable creatures."

The purr of the larger cat as he curled into the god's arms, the smaller cat sandwiched between the two of them, sounded, in that moment, to be almost louder than the thunder outside.

Buttoning his coat shut, Loki sat down cross-legged on one of the unsold, clean animal beds, feeling the soft rumble of purring resonate through his body.


	7. In Which Thor Destroys a Toaster

**A/N: Back from the dead...er, the void known as school finals. It was a harrowing experience, but my grades are much happier for them, so onward we go! Also (as schoolwork kept me from doing so earlier) Happy Holidays and Merry (sadly, belated) Christmas and (also, sadly belated) Happy New Year!**

**Concerning the new kitty's name: The name _Toini_ (according to the mighty internet, and not because it sounds a bit like Tony, no matter what shipping from the fandom may otherwise say, no offense meant. Any and all picking up on said name similarity will be used for comedic purposes!) is of Finnish origins, and one of the meanings was "invaluable". Mr. Bag-of-cats may or may not be projecting a little when he picked it because he knows that the best thing for all of them is to make the newest fuzzy member of the apartment feel loved and cared for (once again I feel the urge to facepalm at the sheer _massive _dysfunction that it must have been to grow up in the house of Odin), but it made the kitty happy, so it's all fine and dandy.**

**NOTE #1: I'm well aware that the timespan taken to get the new cat even a little friendly, much less being a cuddly fluffball, would be, in reality, unrealistic and much more than a little ludicrous. However, this takes place in a universe where aliens exist, there's a literal Rainbow Bridge as an intergalactic teleporter, and my favorite Norse god, various misdeeds and all, is now playing house with a pair of adorable fuzzies when not plotting chaos, causing some kind of variously-scaled calamity, or trying to figure out why Odin ever thought it would be a good idea to raise a Frost Giant in an actively Frost Giant-hating household. Logic flew out the window with a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist an Age and a half ago!**

**NOTE #2: This chapter contains kitty bonding, poking fun of Thor's apparent love of poptarts (fanon or canon, it will be exploited _mercilessly_), destroying part of Tony's insanely huge Avenger's tower, Loki's general willful ignorance of the laws of Midgardian physics and/or of being dead (or rather, being thought to be dead), and of course, starts off with potential _feels. _Lots and lots of feels. **

**DISCLAIMER: As usual, anything marketable/copyright in this story is NOT owned by me and is shown here for entertainment purposes ONLY.**

* * *

><p>There was a distinctly <em>chaotic <em>air in the little flat during the next several months. Loki found the tiniest member of the household was initially very shy, hiding under the armchair or bed when frightened, darting into any shadowy corners at the slightest of noises, and prone to climbing the drapes and hiding up atop the bookshelves, cupboards, and bedposts when in an overly skittish mood. It was only by staying calm, exercising a great deal of patience, and offering liberal amounts of milk and fish (if he had enhanced them with several dietary supplements that his neighbors had recommended, no one was any the wiser) that he was even able to keep track of his tiny new charge at all during the first weeks (the idea of using tracking spells was considered, then discarded, as it left a sour taste in his mouth, the idea uncomfortably reminiscent of the shackles and collar he had worn during his sentencing to ensure escape was impossible).

Adelram's influence did not go amiss either, as the older cat seemed to have decided to take the littlest housemate under his wing (so to speak), and to show all the various lovely ways one could endear oneself to their caretaker, including bringing back little "gifts" of caught small prey (the park nearby supplied a steady stream of noisy crickets for first hunting attempts), hopping into the god's lap to demand petting and praise, and to curl close whenever nightmares emerged. Thankfully for said caretaker's hands, the tiny feline was not particularly prone to scratching like most younglings when approached, and instead the kitten chose to either try to hide, or to claw up the nearest set of fabrics out of instinctive fear (the drapes suffered dearly for this, but it was nothing a good mending spell couldn't repair). Calming down slowly became easier when the tiny ball of fluff learned that, no matter how many yards of drapery were ripped by too-small claws or how many times the underside of the armchair or bed was sought for refuge, there was never an attempt of eviction from the little apartment. Any damage was repaired with a simple hand wave and a little bit of magic, and shaking was soothed by Adelram sidling over and unceremoniously wrapping himself around the much smaller body rather like an odd, furry blanket, and a saucer of something warm and tasty carefully held out by hands that, in another life, knew knife-work better than the quiet preparation of milk on the stovetop.

Loki, on the other hand, compared the experience to be somewhat akin to learning how to work with a particularly fascinating and complex spell: the risks were, as always, present, but the potential reward would be quite enriching if successful. Adelram already had gained a sizable foothold in the smaller cat's trust by a steady stream of cuddles and quiet teaching in the ways of being a happy housecat, along with the inevitable benefit of simply being the same species.

Somehow, however, the idea of shapeshifting to earn the little one's trust felt like cheating, and while that normally would be untroubling, here it simply seemed _wrong. _

For now, though, he had managed to gain at least a sizable victory in itself: the little creature now was tolerant enough of his presence that he could now offer her food or occasional gentle ear-rubs or back-scratches using the very tips of his fingers, so long as she wasn't in a worrying mood. Sleeping patterns had been well-established enough for her to curl up at the end of the bed now to nose under the blankets in a little makeshift nest of fabric, though he had a feeling Adelram would be wearing her down towards sleeping closer to keep warm (her coat was somewhat thin, and the long tail, despite its unusual length, could only cover so much at a time). Every so often, she would approach, then simply stare at him for a long while, before curling into a ball and peeping out at him from beneath that long, strange tail.

It would have been difficult to discern whether or not his new housecat was of the female or the male persuasion without the aid of a bath (those had been left to the feline's own devices to do via a thorough licking, as he had a feeling trying to clean up the kitten manually would just make the poor creature even more distrustful and upset, and possibly soak his kitchenette with soapsuds and warm water). Instead, he'd gone to a much less water damage-prone route, and chosen to do an aura examination, the spell simple enough and noninvasive that there would be no panic.

It was interesting, at least in hindsight, to see his new housemate's own tiny aura, as, apart from his own and that of Adelram, he rarely gave more than cursory attention to the energy readings of others unless he deemed it either too important or too interesting to fully ignore. While his older cat had a soft, welcoming aura reminiscent of warm, gentle sunshine, a vague sense of regalia at odds with his sweet, slightly chubby features, and with a faint hint of rain and crackling ozone (a reminder, Loki had once decided, of their original meeting in an awful downpour, as later that same night there had been an absolutely _terrible_ thunderstorm and he'd covered their apartment in a soundproofing spell so his new pet would be able to stop hiding under the nearest bit of furniture), the new one had a bizarrely _mixed_ aura. Her's (as said aura had shown his magic upon first contact) was spotty, cautious optimism mixed with faint (but thankfully rising) hope and a thick overlying coat of slowly-receding distrust. The whole thing reminded him of a well-worn patchwork scarf, held together by sheer will to live rather than any real connective threads anymore, woven through with something not quite-remembered, something that conjured up images of lonely bones and fur like spun night sky.

A name had come to him as he'd finished reading the aura, and her little, almost inquisitive mewl as she'd looked up at him had cemented it.

_You are valued, _he thought as he looked at her_, do not forget that. _

He reached out a single thin finger and stroked a long, languid touch down the tiny head, marveling silently.

Toini purred.

Adelram's responding rumble sounded suspiciously like contentment.

As the god looked out upon the little scene of his apartment, a faint, but definite grin appeared.

"It's always good to end a pleasant day with a little chaos, don't you think?", he murmured softly, reaching out to stroke Adelram's head as well.

The answering purrs from his two housemates were all the confirmation he could ever want.

* * *

><p>Tony Stark was many things: billionaire, playboy philanthropist, the genius who had invented the Iron Man armor <em>and <em>the world's first self-policing and self-evolving A.I...

Today, however, Tony Stark was the victim of a horrible, horrible crime, a First-World problem of the utmost non-importance and yet extreme importance.

"Are you _certain_, friend Stark, that you have no knowledge of the fate of my beloved poptarts?"

Tony stared at the wide, impossibly blue eyes of the tall Asgardian standing before him, and felt sweat trickle down his temples as he tried to think of an answer that wouldn't end in being struck by lightning. After all, Pepper said she would kill him if he missed the business meeting tomorrow.

"Uh, look, Point Break, I don't know what exactly happened to your frosted snack drugs, but you do know I _can _just buy you more, right? There's no need to go all Spanish Inquisition on me here!"

"I do not understand the reference of which you speak, but Lady Darcy _assured _me that you hold the knowledge of what happened to my most beloved of Midgardian foods, and I want to know why!"

_Dammit, Darcy, this is revenge for not giving you the new Starkphone model, isn't it?_

"I mean it, Thor, I don't know what happened to them! Ask Darcy if she saw someone else take them!"

"Anthony," he growled warningly, Mjolnir flaring with lightning. "If you are lying about this..."

"I'm _not_!"

Thor, for a small, split second, looked as if he thought Tony was indeed lying, and Mjolnir shot out a small strike of lightning. Tony shouted in anger and surprise as the toaster on the counter exploded in a burst of white-hot energy.

"Dammit, Thor, I just replaced that after Clint shot the last one during target practice!"

Thor, ignoring the inventor's slurs as he examined the charred brick-like mass that was once the toaster, asked sharply, "Then do you have an idea of who might be responsible?"

"Like _I'd _know _or _tell you after I just told you I didn't _and you destroyed my toaster__!_", came the angered hiss as Tony stared at the once-beautiful piece of kitchen equipment. "This thing made me toast that was never burnt, never too brittle, AND it toasted me science equations on both sides! It took me two hours to build this thing while trying to keep Dum-E from helping..."

Thor blinked, evidently nonplussed by the barrage of words. "You still have not answered my question, friend Stark."

Tony, still staring at the mess of his kitchen, stared at the ruined toaster as the tower's sprinkler system doused water on everything, and felt his eye begin to twitch.


End file.
